Dangerous Passion Read online

  “You should be dating.” My mom searched for more meat on that old bone. “Would you be upset if I invited someone to Sunday dinner? Remember the Hollisters’ oldest, Gabriel? He’s back in the area. A lawyer now, starting his own practice. His mother tells me he’s tired of bachelor life and searching for the right woman. I think you two might really hit it off.”

  “Mom, no. I don’t want a blind date. I just want to spend time with our family.” I added, “And Frank’s new girl. What’s her name anyway?” I neatly sidetracked my mother, and by the time she got done telling me all she knew about this mystery woman, I ended the call without any more discussion of her crazy set-up scheme.

  I leaned back against the couch cushions and played Candy Crush on my phone, willing it to ring again. Mom was kind of right; caring for an elderly person one-on-one was pretty lonely. It wasn’t like being in a nursing home where there were other staff members to chat with. I missed my brief stint aiding Leah as she learned to navigate the city, attending classes with her and just spending time with someone my age. We’d become friends, which carried over after the job ended.

  I considered calling her, but her schedule was really busy now that she DJ’d the late-night shift. Her free time was spent with J.D.—which brought my mind right back to his brother, a topic I was trying to avoid obsessing over.

  An incoming message pinged on my phone. I paused my game and checked it, freaking out a little when I saw it was the one I’d been waiting for.

  Whassup? Busy? Micah asked.

  My fingers itched to respond, but I didn’t want him to think I was sitting around, holding my phone, and waiting for his text. I waited three whole minutes before I replied: Not much. You?

  Hurt my foot. On drugs. Come over?

  What did hurt my foot mean? Was it some kind of slang, or did he mean it literally? I typed: What happened?!

  Long story. Want to see you.

  And I wanted to drop everything and rush over there, check out his little apartment above the bar, see him again. I hated how much I wanted it.

  Working now. I traced the swirls on my tie-dye cell phone cover, mind racing through possibilities. Finally, I added before pressing Send, Will try to get someone to cover.

  Luckily, I’d banked a lot of goodwill at HomeCare. There were several women who owed me for pinch-hitting for them when I’d been between permanent clients and doing temp jobs. It only took two calls to find someone willing to fill in for me, and only another hour before my coworker Sarah arrived.

  A short time later, I was heading to The Raptor’s Roost, not exactly at Micah’s beck and call, but close enough that it bothered me. I’ve always been too accommodating to the men in my life. It’s a pattern I was working to break, but one that was easy to fall back into.

  The stairs to Micah’s apartment were off a hallway near the front of the bar. I had to walk through the bar to get to them. Luckily, J.D. wasn’t working that evening. I didn’t want him to know Micah and I were getting involved. It was our private business.

  Upstairs, I knocked on the door and waited for Micah to call, “Come on in.”

  His voice sounded distant as if he were several rooms away.

  Inside, the apartment looked pretty much how I’d expected, old like the building itself, but modernized. Walls had been knocked out to create an open-concept living/dining area and kitchen. Several thick, earth-tone carpets were laid over original warped wood floors. A couple of couches and chairs, and a huge TV and shelving units made up the living rom. Windows gave a view of the street but not much else, since all the surrounding buildings were taller.

  “In here,” Micah called.

  I followed it through an open door into his bedroom. A king-size bed dominated the room, which was large enough to boast a dresser and plenty of closet space as well. Dressed in a plain white V-necked tee and boxers with kissing lips on them, Micah lay propped against a half-dozen pillows, his bandaged leg raised on top of several more. On the wall at the foot of his bed, another large flat screen was mounted. CGI dinosaurs rampaged across the screen.

  A big, happy grin curved Micah’s mouth. He lifted his hand and waved at me. “You’re here. You came.”

  You’re wasted. I moved closer, and there was no doubt. His pupils were dilated, his speech was slurred, and there was a bottle of prescription pain medication on the nightstand next to a tall glass with a straw in it.

  “What happened here?” I gestured to his injured leg.

  “Oh yeah.” His eyes slowly roamed down to his leg as if just discovering it. “Yeah, right. I dropped a box on my foot.”

  “A box?”

  “It was a really heavy one.” He waved an uncoordinated hand. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll be back on my feet soon. Point is, you came.”

  “Yes, I did.” I picked up the bottle and read the prescription. “How many of these did you take?”

  “Enough. Here. Sit here.” He patted the bed beside him. “We can hang out. Do you want something to drink? Get whatever you want from the fridge.”

  I picked up his glass and gave it a sniff. “Is this whiskey? You’re drinking with your meds. I’m surprised you’re even awake.”

  He blinked and opened his eyes wide. “I’m not that fucked up, I swear. Just a little, ah…” He trailed off, losing his train of thought.

  I took the glass with me to the kitchen and filled a fresh one with water. Then I got a soda for myself and a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and returned to the bedroom. I packed the peas around Micah’s hurt foot, and he whined at the pain.

  I lay down on the comfortable bed beside Micah. There were a lot worse ways to spend an evening. “Which one is this?” I pointed at the movie.

  “Are you kidding? You don’t know? This is The Lost World: Jurassic Park, the best sequel, the one that features Goldblum. Watch this part.”

  He held up a hand, motioning me to be quiet as a pair of stegosauruses trotted past and a man gasped in awe. Micah quoted along with Jeff Goldblum. “Ooh, ahh, that’s how it always starts, but later there’s running and screaming.”

  I snorted and settled back against the pillows, shoulder to shoulder with the giant geek. I sipped my Coke and got caught up in the movie for a few minutes before glancing over at Micah’s mesmerized expression.

  I tapped his good ankle with my foot. “What is it with you and dinosaurs? They’re like comfort food to you, aren’t they?”

  Micah dragged his gaze from the screen to let it wander toward me. He lifted a hand and traced the curve of my face. He was so high from painkillers and alcohol, his eyes were glazed shiny. “God, you’re beautiful. Can I kiss you?”

  “I don’t know. Can you even pucker your mouth right now?”

  He pursed his lips like a fish and gave a smack to the air. I laughed and leaned close so he could practice on my mouth instead.

  After a few wet kisses, I pulled back and gazed into his eyes. “Seriously, though. Tell me about the dinosaurs.”

  He frowned and paused a long time before answering. “My mom picked up those movies for me the day before she…” His jaw tightened, and he swallowed. “It was right before my tenth birthday.”

  All the pieces fell into place as I recalled the Wyatt boys’ mother had died when they were young. Those movies had been Micah’s last connection to her. No wonder he’d clung to them. “I’m so sorry.”

  There was nothing else to say in the face of such a momentous loss, one that had changed the course of his life. My heart broke for the little boy who’d had to grow up way too fast after that.

  He shrugged and looked back to the CGI dinosaurs. “Yeah, well…”

  I nearly wished I hadn’t brought it up, casting a shadow of gloom over him. On the other hand, I was glad to have a glimpse into who Micah really was underneath his breezy exterior. The jokes masked a darkness and heartache he could never move past.

  If I offered sympathy, I sensed he’d take it as pity and it would piss him off, so I searched for someth
ing to say to break the mood. I remembered a long-ago elementary school visit to the Field Museum and our guide’s joke.

  “What’s the best way to talk to a velociraptor?”

  “Huh?” Micah’s gaze returned to me.

  “Long distance.” I made a snare drum beat to underscore the punch line and offered a smile.

  The crease in his cheek flashed, and then he began to laugh, that deep, rolling laughter that had annoyed me when I first met him, but which I was quickly growing to love.

  I searched for the other half-remembered joke the museum guide had told. “Why did the T-Rex cross the road?”

  “Why?” His eyes twinkled.

  “To… No, wait. Because the chicken… Because chickens hadn’t evolved yet,” I finally recalled the punch line.

  He rolled his eyes and reached to grasp my arm. “Come here.”

  I was happy to move closer, to lean in and gather up more kisses. Micah lay nestled back into the pile of pillows, and I hovered over him, stealing bits from the corners of his mouth, his jaw, and the heat of his neck.

  He groaned and lifted his chin higher as I traced a finger down the tendon that disappeared into the neck of his T-shirt. I moved my hand across the hard plane of his chest beneath the cotton, feeling the steady beat of his heart. Then I snuck my palm underneath the shirt and up the heated flesh of his abdomen. His skin twitched at my touch, setting off a string of firecrackers inside me. I needed to see what I was touching.

  “Do you mind?” I asked as I started to peel off his shirt.

  In answer, Micah raised his arms so I could remove it.

  I continued my exploration of his upper body with my hands, as if I were mapping him sightlessly like Leah would—shoulders to wrists, neck to navel. I bent to trail kisses all over his chest and down his belly. Then I hesitated. This was moving really quickly from light, sensual touching to something else. I stared at the bulge beneath his kissy-mouth boxers and tried to decide whether to wrap my hand around that ridge.

  But the timing didn’t feel right, not with Micah all loopy and drowsy. If we took that next step, I wanted both of us to be fully aware of it. I kissed my way back to his mouth and was content to simply kiss and kiss that demanding mouth until my own lips felt bruised.

  At last, I pulled away to settle beside Micah in the nest of pillows, his arm around me, my head on his chest. I watched the movie, listening to dinosaur roars and dramatic music until the sound became part of a dream.

  It was full dark when I woke to find the room lit only by the blank screen of the TV. I rubbed my eyes, stretched, and glanced at Micah. His face was peaceful in the blue glow, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, his breath blowing lightly between them. The thud of a bass reverberated from the bar below, as did the distant hum of voices.

  I sat up and ran a hand through my hair, flattened on one side from being pressed against Micah’s chest. And, damn, what a fine chest it was, I thought as I stole another look at his naked torso.

  I started to get up. Micah stirred, made a muffled sound, and reached out to grab at me. “Wait. Don’t go.”

  “I have to use the bathroom. I’ll be back.”

  I padded in my socks to the bathroom, then the kitchen, where I got a bottle of water from the fridge and a bag of frozen corn to replace the peas. When I returned to the bedroom, I rested a hand on Micah’s shoulder. His eyes fluttered open.

  “You should drink this.” I offered him the bottle and iced his foot. “How’s the pain? Are you supposed to have another pill yet?”

  “It feels okay.” He swallowed most of the water and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Even that little movement was sexy.

  “Are you leaving?” he asked.

  “I was thinking about it. I should get back.” Actually, I had the entire night to myself. Sarah was filling in till midmorning. But staying the night with Micah seemed too much like the start of something, and anyway he hadn’t asked me to stay.

  “Oh.” He frowned. “Please don’t go.”

  “You want me to spend the night?”

  “Do you want to spend the night?” he countered.

  “I guess I could. You might need some help getting around with your hurt foot. Do you need to use the bathroom right now?”

  He shook his head. “Lie down with me.”

  “Okay.” I resumed my spot beside him, with my head on a pillow this time. I watched his profile as his long eyelashes fluttered, then closed again.

  “This is nice,” he murmured.

  It was nice, and there was no place else I wanted to be. Whatever this thing with Micah was, whether it lasted or not, just then it was enough.

  Chapter Eleven

  Micah

  Hours later, I came out of a deep sleep to find Gina still curled up beside me, warm and cozy like a puppy. I liked her there. My usual when is this girl going to take a hint and leave feeling was nowhere to be found. I wanted Gina in my bed, and maybe in my life, which was a brand-new concept for me. I wanted just to be near her, and we hadn’t even had sex yet, which was really weird.

  Watching her face completely relaxed in sleep, vulnerable in a way people never are when they’re awake, I felt a stirring of some emotion like protectiveness, something basic and primal and way too strong. It made me nervous.

  I could kiss her right there on her temple or the soft hollow in her throat. I could stroke my hands over her body, between her legs, bringing her awake with gentle caresses and strokes of my tongue. I could make love to her, not just wham bam, thank you, ma’am sex, and then we could linger in bed, talking about nothing important¸ snacking on whatever I had in my kitchen. We could spend the day together like couples do, lounging, screwing, and laughing about stupid things. We could be freakin’ J.D. and Leah, so wrapped up in each other it made a person nearly puke to watch them together.

  The idea of it made me start to panic. Plus my foot was throbbing so bad I didn’t think even sex would make it feel better. So I nudged Gina until she woke up.

  “Hey,” I whispered when I’d got her attention, and I fully intended to use my patented I’ve got things to do, so maybe you’d better go line.

  “Hey.” She smiled, and my heart stopped for a few beats.

  “I think…” I cleared my throat. “Maybe there are some eggs and bread in my fridge if you want some breakfast.” I couldn’t do it, couldn’t watch her sweet smile crumble.

  “Sure. I’ll make you something if you’re hungry.” She sprang from the bed like a gazelle and hurried off.

  “Uh, thanks,” I called after her.

  I flopped back on the pillow and closed my eyes, shaking my head at my stupidity. Something was happening to me. I’d fallen in like with this girl, and that was very bad. I wasn’t being overdramatic in thinking she was too good for me. She actually was.

  Gina was the kind of woman who helped blind people and old ladies and made breakfast for guys with hurt legs. I was the kind of guy who hurt legs and blind people and old ladies. Well, maybe not literally, but I sure as hell hung with a criminal element and broke laws.

  And hearts. Don’t forget the hearts. If I could collect all the tears I’d made women shed in the course of my life, I’d have a swimming pool full.

  I sat up, swung my legs off the bed, and cursed at the pain that shot up from my foot. No crushed bones. Only bruises despite having a several-hundred-pound crate of something really heavy dropped on it. A long, rectangular crate that looked and felt like it held automatic weapons.

  But it wasn’t my place to even think about what the shipment delivered to the warehouse might contain. A guy could get killed from prying into stuff like that.

  I’d done what Dale begged me to do, met Kaspar Abakumov’s right-hand man, a bald dude with ice chips for eyes, so he could judge my character. A smuggler couldn’t be too careful when hiring minions to move shit around. No doubt he’d checked my background, and as his cool gaze assessed me, I guess he decided I wasn’t an undercover DEA agent. Fantast
ic! I got the job!

  The next night, a van had arrived at the warehouse from some unknown destination. Dale and I lurked in the shadows, bouncing from foot to foot in the cold, nervous as alley cats when the dark vehicle pulled up and a couple of guys jumped out. We helped unload and carry the crates inside, the van visibly resting lighter on its axles as we relieved it of its burden. I puffed and sweated and walked awkwardly backward, helping Dale carry each crate. On the third one, I stumbled and dropped my end. I howled when it landed on my foot.

  The two foreigners cursed me in Russian or Chechen or whatever language they spoke, and I bit back my whining. But I was useless for the rest of the night. I could barely drive home and crawl upstairs to my apartment.

  Now, as I limped to the bathroom, my foot screamed a reminder of the stupid adventure I’d gotten involved with. I propped a hand on the wall as I took a leak. Then I splashed water on my face and wet my hair to try to tame some of the wildness before plodding to the kitchen to find Gina.

  She looked so comfortable moving from fridge to counter to stove, like she belonged there or something. I sank down on one dining room chair, propped my foot on another, and watched her work.

  Gina glanced up. “You can go back to bed if you want. I’ll bring it to you.”

  “Naw. I need to move around a little. I’ve been lying down for too many hours.”

  “So what happened to your foot? You never really said.”

  “Dropped a case of booze on it. Those things are heavier than you expect.” I nodded at the stove. “Hey, thanks for cooking for me. That’s nice. And thanks for coming over last night. I don’t know what I was thinking, bugging you like that.”

  “We’re friends now, aren’t we?” A curtain of tangled hair hid most of her face as she turned her attention to buttering toast. “Friends help friends when they’re sick or hurt.”